It came to my attention this weekend that I am no longer able to handle the heat the way I did when I was a child, much less 20 years ago.

My mother would make me come into the house on particularly hot days, despite my protests. I would run in smelling like a hot, sweaty kid and pond muck — from happily hunting for and playing with crawdads along the ends of the pond — with a hint of cedar sap that stuck to my fingers and palms — a tell tale sign of tree climbing — and dewberry stains on my fingers and face. (I knew where to scrounge up the good eats.) 

(0) comments

Welcome to the discussion.

Keep it Clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CAPS LOCK.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be Nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.